A Salve of Ashes
by OrnamentofRhyme
Summary: Frank opens up about his encounter with Josh at the gas station. Family (Mis)adventure #2


**Warnings: messing with Dwayne's age, and also warning for the splash of pre-slash, pre-incestuous relationship**

"Do you—do you enjoy listening to that?" Frank asked when he finished his nightly bathroom routine. Dwayne had a wilted sort of smile on his face. He strained to recall the last time he'd seen Dwayne smile before they first survived push-starting the VW—and that one had been undoubtedly genuine; when he had looked over at his nephew that afternoon, the kid was glowing. Frank's high from the bizarre exercise faded long before his appreciation for Dwayne's spurt of happiness did. In fact, it was an image that refused to leave him.

Dwayne sat up on his bed, and Frank wasn't truly expecting a response to begin with, but before he stepped up to his own mattress, Dwayne's notepad was being held up for him to see.

 **Richard is the worst thing that ever happened to my mom,** it read.

Frank snorted. He couldn't necessarily disagree. But as far as he could remember, there had been two assholes in Sheryl's life. He trusted the durability of Dwayne's apathetic shell, so he said, "Yeah, well, no offense but your dad wasn't exactly prime rib either."

Dwayne didn't look too happy to hear it, but he kind of shrugged like he couldn't disagree. Frank gave him a flat smile.

Toeing off his shoes, Frank sat on the edge of his bed, closest to the wall. His fingers itched to find his wallet, but he tried to keep them still. He gripped the cloth at his knees like a scared child might clutch a blanket, and he just sat there, staring at nothing.

Because he hated himself, he did eventually give in. It could have been seconds later, or hours, he didn't care. He still did it.

From the night stand he took up his wallet, and slipped from its folds Josh's picture. It was odd how before, when he still had hope of becoming more to Josh, the image was a symbol of his deepening bond with the younger man. Now, it seemed to highlight the wedge that had always been there; Frank couldn't believe his own foolishness; look, he thought bitterly, at how he was at the edge of the photo, as though shoehorned in. An afterthought. Was Josh turned toward him on purpose, or was it coincidence? Was Frank even—

A pair of wine red shoes stepped onto the edge of Frank's vision. He looked up at Dwayne's deceptively blank face and blinked numbly.

Dwayne pointed at the photo, which Frank passed to him without a thought, and only after it was out of Frank's reach did he wonder at his complacency to do so. Josh hadn't even known that Frank was ever in possession of the photo, and yet he trusted his nephew with the secret? Did he?

He didn't take it back, so that had to mean something.

Dwayne's face took on this sort of tinge of disdain as he looked upon the picture. He never wore expressions, Frank had decided earlier. At least, not on the surface of his face. With Dwayne, it was like the expression was there, but someone had hidden it under layers and layers and layers of unruffled, immotile skin, so it just barely shifted his features in a way that gave the impression of an emotion. It was fascinating to watch.

Dwayne looked at him, and Frank's thoughts reeled back in. He appeared to be looking for an explanation for the picture, so he said, "That's, uh, Josh. The one who..." He looked down at his wrists. Dwayne nodded once, with a slight purse to his lips.

The young man wrote, **Why keep it?**

Frank laughed airily, unable to fathom an answer. He took the photo back and rubbed the edge of the slick image with his thumb.

"I don't know anymore. You know, I saw him today," Frank admitted, unable to stop himself. Dwayne's brows furrowed, perhaps wondering when Frank had the time and ability to sneak away from Family Fun-time Hell for some horrible rendezvous with his unrequited love. He added, "At the gas station. I went in and bought..." His head dropped into his hands, which raked through his hair. "...goddamn smut magazines for Edwin, and he was there, and he saw them. God," he choked, "And Larry Sugarman was there, with him, because of course he was! The looks they gave me... If we weren't in that damn bus, I would have wanted to—" Frank cut himself off before he could say it. He was talking to his teenage nephew, he reminded himself furiously. God knew the kid had enough of his own shit to deal with without Frank unfurling his sob story.

Frank's hands boxed in his field of vision, so Dwayne had reach before his notepad was right in that window.

 **Fuck them. You deserve better than an asshole like that.**

It startled a laugh out of Frank. He pulled out of his hunch to look at the teen. Never before had he seen such a serious and passionate expression on Dwayne's face.

Dwayne drew the notepad back to scratch in some more words. Frank faintly wondered how many notebooks the kid had used in the last 9 months. And did he keep them?

The next page that was held up read, **Get rid of this.** And he plucked the photo of Frank and Josh from the older man's loose pinch, holding it up.

Frank blinked a few times, with his mouth slightly agape. "No, I—"

Dwayne shook his head and twitched his notepad as though to repeat it.

Frank shook his head as well, but said, "I can't just... I can't just leave it here."

 **You're worth more than holding out for someone like that.**

"He's not a bad guy," Frank defended weakly. "It's the influence Sugarman's had on him."

 **Shouldn't you be looking for someone who wants you as much as you want them? Don't hold out for this guy.**

"Are you speaking from experience?" he asked sardonically, ignoring the echo of his grandmother's request, which seemed to reflect in Dwayne's sentiment. He stood to take the photo back, but Dwayne held it away.

 **It's for your own good,** he wrote, backing away. The words were jagged and messy on the page.

Frank growled. "I hear that shit from everyone else, I don't want to hear it from you, Dwayne."

For his part, the teen did look slightly abashed, but his hold on the picture did not lax. He backed into the bathroom and held it over the toilet.

"Are you serious?" Frank snapped. He marched in after the younger man, and thus commenced their wrestling for the picture.

They collided with the shower curtain and swayed back before they could rip it down. Frank had a hand on Dwayne's wrist while the other pressed mindlessly into Dwayne's chest.

"I swear to god—" Frank warned, chuckling at the smirk on the teen's lips.

They were a blur, moving awkwardly in the tight room. Frank was so caught up in the strange mirth of it all that he didn't notice at first the little noises coming from Dwayne's throat. But as soon as he did, he was entranced. So much so that he tripped, knocking them against the wall. All they could do was let gravity push them together, with Dwayne's back to the wall, and Frank's hands braced on either side of his shoulders.

Dwayne drew in a sharp breath, which came out in shallow puffs against Frank's lips. Their eyes found each other's and locked there. Some sort of static seemed to pass between them in the immeasurable time they stood like that, with Frank's body pinning Dwayne's against the eggshell brown wall of a motel bathroom in God knows where.

It was when there came a soft sliding sound and a _plop!_ that they came unstuck. Frank backed away and turned to the origin of the noise. Dwayne's notebook lay floating in the toilet bowl.

Frank frowned. "You brought another one of those, right?"

Dwayne nodded, watching the notebook swirl slowly in the water with some regret.

"You keep those, don't you." Frank said, because it wasn't really a question. As his luck would have it, of course he would.

Dwayne nodded again. He seemed to be debating whether or not flushing the toilet would get rid of it, or if he would have to fish it out himself. Frank cringed at the idea.

Instead, the teen swooped down to retrieve his pen from where it had landed in the shower and then walked out of the bathroom, making a beeline for his bag. From it, he pulled a fresh notepad.

Frank looked down at the picture in his fist, crumpled from his careless grip. He held it up, pinching the edges so he could assess the damage. Somehow, with the dim lights and the crinkles in the paper, he thought he was seeing a whole new angle to the picture. The one where, even standing next to Josh, Frank's eyes were sunken and tired, like they had been for the last month. When did those under-eye shadows first appear? he asked himself. Was it last month? Or the one before? What about the one before that? No matter how far back he went, the only thing he knew for sure, was that they didn't just carve themselves into his face overnight.

And his failure with Josh didn't happen overnight, either.

Frank cleared his throat, bringing Dwayne's attention to him. He held up the photo.

"I need help getting rid of this," he said.

Dwayne's features seemed to liven up at the non-request. **How?**

Frank thought very hard. He summed up his findings with, "I don't know. Nothing seems good enough."

Dwayne contemplated the photo in Frank's hands. At the end of it, he headed for the exit door, beckoning for him to follow.

Frank latched the door behind them and trailed after the young man with an intrigued eye. He wanted to voice his curiosity, but figured stopping for Dwayne to write an answer would take more time than just waiting to see where he was being led.

Their footsteps tapped down the concrete steps and then over the brief stretch of sidewalk to the van. It was still parked aslant over the parking lines, but he was fairly certain it had traveled a couple of feet since last they saw it. He said so to Dwayne, who just shrugged. Maybe it would drive itself away overnight. Or at least roll into the mopeds across the lot.

Dwayne distracted him from his thoughts when he slammed himself into the driver side door. Frank jumped.

"What are you doing?" For a moment he thought the teen was having some sort of meltdown. Then again, he could hardly imagine what a Dwayne meltdown would even look like.

But Dwayne just reared back and rammed into the door again with his shoulder. This time Frank noticed he pulled the handle at the same time.

Nothing seemed to change, so Frank said, "Need help?"

Dwayne grunted softly, which he took to mean yes, so Frank got behind him—squeezing between the teen and the side mirror—and counted down so they could move together. They did so with a seemingly thunderous bang, and they came away rubbing their sore shoulders and looking into the open cab of the van.

"Why am I not surprised," Frank commented of the unlocking trick. The van looked to be one more good shove away from falling apart like something out of the Looney Tunes.

Dwayne climbed up and stretched across the aisle to pop open the glove box, where he scraped around for something.

He wasn't sure what it would have solved, but Frank was almost afraid the boy would pull back holding a gun.

The things this family threw at him...

Instead, when Dwayne stepped out of the van, there was a green disposable lighter in his fist.

Oh.

Frank uncurled his clammy fingers and looked at the crumpled photo.

Dwayne adopted an under-expression of sympathy but held out the lighter.

When Frank didn't move, the teen dropped his hand and wrote, **You don't want someone like that in your life if you can help it.**

Frank snorted. "I've got plenty of people like that."

In the midst of an awkward silence, an uncomfortable guilt prompted him to add, "Not you. Or Olive. Or my sister." He cleared his throat.

Dwayne simply nodded and held out the lighter again.

There was a moment of hesitation before Frank took it. His hand trembled faintly as he fought to strike the lighter. A few lazy flickers sparkled out, but he had to pause and take some deep breaths before he could make a steady flame. Once he did, he glanced across at Dwayne, who nodded in encouragement.

A week ago, Frank would not have been able to comprehend the very idea of this situation. But such is life.

He held his breath and touched the edge of the picture to the fire. The corner curled and picked up the flame. He went to carefully place it on the pavement, but a second of panic as it spread closer to his hand had it flipping to the ground on its own.

Frank stumbled away from it, backed into the ledge of the sidewalk and somehow found himself sitting on it. He watched the fire dumbly.

"What are you doing?" someone asked from above. They looked around, and up, and found Sheryl watching them from the balcony. She didn't try to hide the cigarette between her fingers.

When Frank realized Dwayne couldn't answer, he said, "Uh... Spring cleaning."

"It's summer," she corrected.

"Yes."

She sighed. "Alright, well don't get caught."

Dwayne saluted to her.

Frank looked back to the picture in time to see Josh's smile warp and darken with the heart of the flame. He took steady breaths and didn't seem to blink until it burnt itself out. By then, there was little more left than a sliver of the photo, and black scorch marks on the white parking stripe where it had landed.

He looked up when a hand broke into his vision. Dwayne was offering a hand up.

Frank blinked at him, then again as his eyes readjusted to the feeling, and accepted the help. He looked back at the mark where his picture had been, and Dwayne patted his shoulder, nudging him toward the stairs.

Mindlessly, Frank went back to their room. He changed into his pajamas and curled up on his bed, facing the wall. At some point Dwayne turned off the lamp. At another, sleep came.


End file.
